


Pater

by Daretobeforgottenagain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Bashing, Dark Harry, Different parent, F/F, F/M, Independent Harry, M/M, Multi, Powerful Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daretobeforgottenagain/pseuds/Daretobeforgottenagain
Summary: In the wake of Sirius' death, Harry knows that things need to change. Regardless of his agreement, things would have changed anyway. His childhood and future are about to collide in a way that promises bad things for anybody not on his side. Everybody has secrets-some are lethal.





	1. Of rats, shadows and obliviates

** Authors note:  ** _This is a dark!Harry story. Seriously, he becomes rather naughty. Further notifications of a similar nature will be added in future chapters as necessary. This story is also definite slash. If you do not appreciate the subject matter, or would like to point out some hideous mistake in spelling or grammar-don’t._

** Warnings:  ** _This chapter contains homosexual innuendo and situations. It also contains mild violence and an unhappy Harry._

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

__

_ Excerpt from the book “Old magic: The Mother” as transcribed by Lukas Micanalos, 1943 _

_Perhaps one of the only acceptable forms of compulsion based magicks still existing is the very real, very magical bond between a mother and her infant. Children are a rarity in the magical world (See chapter: mud-bonded magicals), and therefore more precious for it. Regardless, some people have a propensity towards violence, or perversity, and these people might pose a threat to their own children if given the chance._

_When a child is born, a magical link is formed with the mother until the first period of magical maturity, at age 11. The mother will raise and protect the child against all physical affronts, from something as simple as a scraped knee, to a possibly fatal or sexual attack. The mother is driven to ensure that the child makes it to its first maturity, after which, the link is completely abolished. There has been some debate over the morality of the link, and the various loopholes it allows for emotional or verbal abuse, but such debate is pointless, as the link is instinctive and not of man-made origin._

_In the case of a mother’s death, the link is able to be manually transferred to the closet magical relative, if done within a 3 month time frame. If not, it is best for the child to be placed with old-blooded magicals, who are aware of the importance of children, in a way mudbloods are not._

\---X---

Harry had been at Grimmauld place for only two hours, and already he had had enough.

It was the 30th of July, the day before his birthday, and for once, he was not at number 4 Privet drive siting uselessly in his room, staring at a clock. 

The order- a few select members- had collected him from the Durselys’ and away from a surprisingly enjoyable summer vacation. He hadn’t asked to be collected, and they hadn’t sent notice. In fact, he had received no mail at all during his stay there baring his school supply list.

Harry had spent the first few days at the Durselys locked in his room. He hadn’t minded. He had been curled up on his cot, riding the very real agony of Sirius’s death and wondering why he was still alive when Sirius wasn’t. After a couple of days had passed, the smell of sweat and misery soaking his clothing had completely eclipsed the smell of urine in his allocated bucket, and he realised that either he had missed Petunia’s dulcet tones telling him to use the bathroom, or they hadn’t thought to give him that basic human necessity. They probably just didn’t care.

_ Flashback _

_Anger surged through his body. Anger at the Durselys. Anger at the Order. Anger at himself. A surprising burst of fury was directed at Sirius for putting him in this situation._

_The Durselys were treating him like something less than the dirt on their shoes. It hadn’t been this bad since before he was 11._

_Obviously his impending magical maturity and the absence of protection Sirius had provided was unhinging his relatives. Perhaps they were giving a last ditch effort to get rid of his ‘freakishness’, before he became an adult ‘freak’._

_Or perhaps, they had noticed his darkening countenance. Maybe they were remembering his outbursts as a child, and had seen his grief as a precursor to that._

_Whatever the reason, the Durselys were treating him like rubbish and he wasn’t going to stand for it._

_Harry stood up from the bed, stretching his cramping muscles, and tried to ignore the smell that permeated the small space that was his room. He looked at the empty bottle of water on the floor, at the box of stale crackers, and felt his anger sharpen into a pinpoint._

_He faced the door and set his mind to opening it.He had no idea how he would do it, for even if he still had Sirius’s knife, or knew how to pick locks, there were padlocks on the outside. A good eight or so._

_He knew if he gathered enough energy, and concentrated his magic, he could probably unlock them all, though it would take a while. He had the magical reserves, and he had always, despite popular opinion or knowledge, had the control. He had the power._

_He had several things to consider however._

_He was already exhausted from lack of proper food. He was dehydrated. He felt half dead, and still, despite anger, miserable. His magic was keeping him standing, and if he managed to make it out after such a feat, he would need whatever magic he had at his disposal to deal with the Durselys._

_He needed a way to get out without using a lot of magic. It didn’t need to be perfect._

_With a loud squealing noise and a house-shaking crash, Harry kicked the door down with a magically enhanced foot._

_Durselys’ POV_

_In the lounge, the Durselys sat frozen at the noise. Footsteps alerted them to movement in the house, until they could see Potter come into view as he walked into the kitchen._

_Vernon stood up shaking in anger. He cast a red-tinged glance to a pale Petunia and confused Dudley and marched directly into the kitchen. The boy, Potter, was standing in front of the fridge holding a bunch of Grapes and a bottle of orange juice. His grubby hands had left sweat stains on the outside of the fridge door._

_“Boy!”_

_The boy ignored him, and shut the Fridge, placing the food on the countertop and walking to the pantry._

_“Boy! Potter! Look at me boy.”_

_Potter, from what he could see of him in the cupboard, paused a little. Vernon grinned in triumph and prepared himself to deliver a scathing barrage of insults and slurs, ignoring the little voice inside of him telling him to be careful._

_“Boy! Out of the pantry now!”_

_The boy did indeed step out of the pantry, but with him he carried an armful of their hard earned food. He walked to where the chilled food was and placed them down carefully. Then he did nothing but stand quietly, still faced away from Vernon._

_Vernon saw red, and with a few quick steps, reached over and spun the boy around._

_Harry’s eyes were dark, and his face was pale, but he was smiling. It was a horrible smile full of teeth and derision, and it lit up his eyes with something dark and nameless._

_“Uncle Vernon.”_

_The hand still holding the boy felt numb._

_He took a quick step back and said nothing, looking from the food to the boy and back again, thinking of the padlocks on the door upstairs and the boy’s obvious location of_ Not His Room.

_He thought of the boys approaching birthday, and the not-so-nice magical outbursts he had displayed as a child, and felt something cold grip his heart._

_“We’re having roast for dinner. They’ll be a plate left for you on the counter.”_

_He left the kitchen, trying to ignore the throaty chuckling that followed him and walked stiffly back to his seat in the lounge. Petunia look at him with an unbelieving expression to which he shook his head shortly and flicked his eyes at Dudley._

_“His Godfather just died Pet. He might be reduced to a_ Childlike _state for a bit. We should take more….care with him.”_

_Petunia, who had started off incensed at the lack of proper shouting or discipline, had paled at the reference to his childhood._

_Dudley had no idea what his parents were talking about or why his father had stopped disciplining the Freak, but his father’s shaken countenance warned him not to ask. He’d find out later and then, he’d pick up where his father had obviously not been able to finish. For the moment, he’d just relax and wait._

_Upstairs, Harry placed his food on the lopsided desk and cracked open the window. Despite his grief over Sirius, he felt good. He remembered the fear in his Uncle’s eyes, and felt a spark of satisfaction settle in his stomach. He would have a shower, prop up his door, and delve a little deeper into these long forgotten feelings._

_But first-food._

_ End flashback _

From then on, the summer had only turned to Harry’s advantage.

At first Harry had simply focused on dealing with his grief and guilt over Sirius’s death. He’d managed to move past the initial urge to shovel blame solely upon himself, and moved very quickly onto a rational dissection of the events.

Harry wasn’t known to be rational. Rationality was not a Gryffindor trait, and even Hermione, for all of her intelligence, let herself be easily led astray.

But Harry had always been rational, and methodical, and all things not commonly ascribed to the house of Gryffindor. In fact, Harry was the perfect Slytherin at heart.

And so Harry had managed to calm himself down enough to sit still and think without a haze of emotions blinding him.

 Firstly, yes, he had some part in Sirius’s death. He could have tried harder during Occlumency lessons, or trusted Snape to do the right thing.  But there were several reasons why it was not that simple.

Occlumency, he had later read, relied greatly on trust when taught from a master to a student. Trust allowed a simple, temporary bond to form between the two involved people, ensuring a general oath of confidentiality and an unspoken agreement to not pry too far.

Snape and he certainly did not trust each other, and any efforts he made to learn on his own were thwarted quickly. Such an art was restricted by the ministry, and neither the library, nor any legal bookstores had any information on how to learn it, only why not to. Even the restricted section was suspiciously barren.

And trusting Snape to do the right thing was a laughable idea, especially concerning Sirius. The enmity between those two nearly eclipsed the one between Snape and his father. Only not really, because James had Lily and that would trump anything Sirius did, even attempted murder.

Snape on the other hand, had a more hefty part to play in Sirius’s death. He had made no real effort to help Harry even at the request of Dumbledore, and had in fact widened Harrys mind to further intrusion.

Dumbledore, the one to put Harry and Snape together, had behaved in a manner that suggested concern for Harry, if Harry had really been the oblivious Gryffindor that he portrayed. But he wasn’t, and all he could see was blunder after blunder concerning Dumbledore.

He couldn’t blame Sirius for being there, because he had come as a member of the order. But he could blame Sirius for raising his hopes of a semi-normal life, and then shattering them with a whispered word. Perhaps it was that he had only ever seen James and not Harry that hurt more, but hearing his father’s name come from his Godfather’s lips as he died was probably the worst thing to happen to him that night.

At least it had put things into perspective.

So yes, the blame was shared between multiple people, and he could write a list of people he blamed. But even if he went through Kreacher and Bellatrix, Voldemort and Umbridge, it didn’t change the fact that he was dead.

And so, with that rather stark analysis, Harry’s flimsy emotions went to work, and his Grief simmered down into a type of sad relief.

That hadn’t changed the fact that during the entire time he had been stuck at the Durselys, he had received not a single piece of mail.

Hermione and Ron were well aware of what Sirius had meant to Harry. Sirius had been the only person he had allowed himself to actually care for. As far as his friends knew, he was stuck in a house with muggles who hated magic, blaming himself for the death of his only hope at a family.

Good friends, real friends he supposed, would have written - at least to see that he hadn’t done something rash. Hermione in particular had seen the shade of Red his uncle had turned at the station, when informed of Sirius’s death. He had waited though, to see if they would send anything. He had sent both letters after all, expressing his wish for a steady stream of communication.

Nothing came.

So he had settled in to his new routine at the Durselys, something vaguely reminiscent of his time as a child, and focused on relearning independence.

_ Flashback _

_It was his second week back at the Durselys and things were different._

_Harry had begun remembering things._

_It started when he had first seen Vernon after escaping from his room. His uncle had acted as his usual belligerent self- blustering and self-important- and Harry had smiled at him. Something within him pushed through his misery and boiled in his blood, and he received a quick vision of his uncle towering over a much younger Harry, screaming as shadows bit and tore at his raised hand. The vision quickened Harry’s blood and left him breathless, prominent in his voice as he mouthed his uncle’s name._

_“Uncle Vernon?”_

_Vernon had stumbled back, mumbled something about dinner, and left._

_From then on, Harry had been receiving strange flashes of himself as a child. It was a peculiar, almost out-of-body experience and each one left him breathless and weak and hungry for something undefinable._

_He understood that these were his memories. What he didn’t understand was why they had been absent up until now. As far as he had been aware, his childhood had been miserable and full of pain. He didn’t know who this boy was, this scary, beautiful boy that terrorised his family. But day by day and vision by vision, it felt less like he was viewing someone else’s memories and more like they had always been a part of him._

_Rather quickly he realised that whatever had held them back had been most likely released by Voldemort’s mental invasion. As thanks, he sent feelings of glee and abject giddiness down their mental link, and received feelings of bewilderment, alarm and hideous anger in return, before the connection was abruptly closed._

_He couldn’t understand why he had been so dependent on his friends before. He still felt fond of them, but more prominent was a sense of exhaustion and anger. How many times would they let him down before they grew up? He had half expected no response from Ron who lacked any real emotional empathy, but he had expected more from Hermione._

_What hurt more was the lack of correspondence from Remus._

_Remus and he had grown almost as close as he had with Sirius, and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t written. Perhaps there was some sort of Order business he was performing. Perhaps he was still in the debilitating state of Grief. Whatever the reason, he decided not to think too much on it at the current time. Who knew, maybe it was werewolf related._

_At present he was in the park, sitting on the only usable swing. It was dusk, and the sky had started to darken in a tumultuous display of gold and purple. Sand scratched his bare feet as he swayed idly back and forth._

_Despite the scare of last summer, Dudley still took his Gang to the park to pick on unsuspecting teens. Harry couldn’t blame him, power was addictive after all. He chose mostly older kids anyway, but Harry supposed it didn’t matter how fit or old the other person was if it was still a group on one._

_Harry could see them at the other end of the field. Three had split off with cries of farewell and a barrage of laughter, and only Dudley and a tall blonde teenager were left to walk in his direction._

_They were rather close now, and Harry could see that the tall teen he thought he didn’t know was actually Piers, Dudley’s best friend and right hand man._

_Dudley saw him right away, and let a smarmy grin slip over his face. He elbowed Piers and swaggered over to Harrys place on the swing expecting Piers to follow, which he did._

_“Hey Potter! Hey. What’d you do to dad the other day, e h? Threatened to contaminate the house maybe? Too late! You already stink it up.”_

_He laughed uproarishly, bending at the waist to clutch his stomach in mirth. Besides him, Piers was looking at Harry with an expression of trepidation._

_Dudley gave an annoyed glance at Pier, before straightening and continuing his assault._

_“It’s a good thing we’re not in the house anymore. No chance of catching something if I do this!”_

_He reached over and poked Harry hard in the forehead. Harry stared at him blankly as the swing rocked slightly, before sighing and addressing his cousin._

_“What do you want Dudley? Decided to move to one on one bullying?”_

_He looked at Piers, and gave him a slow look, from feet to hair, and winked._

_“Two if you count Piers, but I wouldn’t.”_

_Dudley turned red and reared back to punch Harry as hard as he could in the face. Harry leant backwards on the swing, using the momentum to sweep his legs up and under Dudley, bringing him to the ground._

_Harry stood, and put one foot firmly to Dudley’s throat. He bent down so that his head was level with Dudley’s; ignoring the chocking sounds his cousin made._

_“There’s a reason Daddy Dursely changed his tune,” Harry whispered, gently brushing a strand of blonde hair from Dudley’s purple face, “and I think if you focus really hard, it’ll come to you. Don’t screw with me Dudley. We’re family. I love you. Don’t make me hurt you.” He forced a spike of magic from his fingers into Dudley’s skin, and stood back up as a thick tears began running from his cousins eyes._

_Dudley scrambled to his feet, chocking on tears and wheezing horribly. He didn’t even look at Harry as he began to run home to number 4._

_Beside Harry, Piers was trembling. He wanted to run. He wanted to run home and hide in his room with its locks and safety bars where no one- not even his drunk of a father- could get in._

_But he couldn’t, and instead stood stiffly with his feet glued to the ground, clenching his eyes stubbornly closed. Despite actively participating in the beatings, he wasn’t as involved as the other Gang members. The brutality of it made his stomach turn. It reminded him of his father. Now he was about to be beaten in return, and no matter how much he wanted to, he. could. not. move._

_Harrys POV_

_Harry turned to look at Piers as Dudley ran off, and took the time to revise his memory of Piers’ appearance._

_If he had not been a member of Dudley’s gang, he would have been targeted for sure._

_Pale and whipcord slim, with a smooth hairless face and soft blond hair, all sorts of things came to Harry’s mind, none of which were g-rated. Piers had grown from a rat into a pretty little kitten, and screw Darwin, the proof was right in front of him. Evolution with no apparent advantage, especially not for Piers._

_He walked behind him, sliding one hand under Pier’s shirt to grip his waist, clenching as Piers lurched away. Unnoticed, Harry’s shadow had lengthened and grown to envelope Piers’._

_“Hello Kitten.” Harry murmured, brushing his lips against the boy’s ear. Piers was taller than him, but harry at 6’1 was definitely not short. He wrapped his armed completely around Piers’ waist, and pulled him back into him, holding him snug._

_“I said, hello kitten.”_

_Piers flinched, and abruptly started struggling. He elbowed and bit, kicked and lunged, but couldn’t get away. A primal fear had overtaken him, something he didn’t want to put a name to, but he knew that he wanted to escape more than anything he had ever wanted in his life._

_Harry remained behind him, weathering the assault casually, and wrapped his other hand around Piers’ throat, clenching lightly._

_After a while, long after the sky had blackened Piers’ struggles stopped and he slumped tiredly against Harry, tilting his head back to rest on Harry’s chest. Harry cooed and stroked the pale throat rewardingly, enjoying his closeness and warmth. He buried his nose in blonde hair and smiled a cheerful smile._

_“What does the kitten say back to Harry?”_

_A soft sigh escaped the boy as Piers turned slightly to face Potter._

_“Hello…Harry.”_

_XxX_

_Harry returned to the Durselys feeling warm and full of energy. Nothing had happened much beyond that exchange, but Harry knew that with a little effort and time, he’d get what he wanted. He didn’t know why he wanted it, but he supposed Piers’ pretty face was answer enough. Perhaps he thought ensnaring a muggle look-a-like of Malfoy would be amusing. Either way he was in a good mood._

_When he entered the house, the atmosphere was tense. The lights were on, and the television was blaring, but it wasn’t until Vernon came charging at him that he remembered what had happened with Dudley._

_He felt a moment of satisfaction in the memory, before he quickly sidestepped his uncle who then ran heavily into the door._

_Spinning around, Harry saw his uncle leaning against the wall clutching at his head and glaring at Harry. Dimly, he became aware of another memory, a younger Vernon in the exact same position. The younger Vernon wasn’t angry though, he was terrified, and it was this emotion that Harry felt the older Vernon should be feeling. A bitter flame burnt to life in Harry, enveloping him in a barrage of dripping, writhing darkness. His magic practically leapt towards the foreign entity, blowing out the light in the entrance hall with a surge of magical energy. He felt whole and alive but mostly, he just felt really, really irritated._

_He saw his uncle straighten up and prepare for another charge, but before he could, Harry’s shadow twisted and thickened, streaming rapidly towards and upon Vernon. Before Vernon could yell, something black and fluid entered his mouth and suddenly he was on the ground, clawing at his throat for air._

_Harry stepped closer to Vernon, and knelt beside him. He ignored the petrified presence of his Aunt and Cousin as he leant in closer and gently stroked his hair, much like he had before with Dudley._

_“It seems like I was premature in telling Dudley that you had changed your tune.” Harry murmured.  
“I was trying to prevent worse from happening to him you see. As a last ditch attempt at playing family.”_

_He ignored Vernon’s stilling struggles and blue tinged lips and turned to face the other two._

_“I remember everything now.” He told a panicking Petunia. “And don’t worry; I’ll bring things back to how they used to be in no time. Better even. I’m older now.”_

_He walked past them with a skip to his step, and up the stairs to his room. Behind him, his shadows unravelled and quietly made their way back to him, fading back into his skin effortlessly. They burnt within him though, but harry didn’t mind. It was a good type of burn._

_ End Flashback _

Harry had spent the next few weeks up until now meditating on old memories, examining the Darkness, and generally terrorising the Durselys for the hell of it.

He had also made it a point to see Piers every day, even if most of the time it involved him materialising in his room at night-time. It only took a little while before Piers stopped struggling to resist him, and when he eventually surrendered, he did so gracefully.  It had been hard for Harry to reconcile the pinched-looking, thuggish boy with the fragile teen he visited, but he imagined it was harder for Piers.

He had grown slightly fond of him, but acknowledged that it was more that fact that he was _there_ and generally pretty that kept him returning. Piers was also pretty interesting to talk to; his walls were covered in posters of Russian authors and foreign films. Harry imagined that Dudley had never visited.

It was during one of these visits- a rare daytime occurrence- that the order appeared. They must have used a blood-bonded portkey (which was suspicious in itself), and landed directly in the centre of the room, right next to the bed.

On the bed as you might have guessed, were Piers and Harry. Piers had been on Harry’s lap, legs splayed open, mouth deliciously parted and chest covered in bite marks. The order had received a full frontal seat to the show, and as they appeared Harry had given one last hard thrust, and bit down savagely on Pier’s throat. Tonks had been sprayed with the evidence of Piers’ clear enjoyment.

It had all gone downhill from there.

Apparently Mundungous Fletcher had been his guard for the day, though Harry didn’t know why, as scattered as the man was. He had neglected to inform the Order that he wasn’t in his room, and as a result, there was one more obliviated muggle in the world. At least they had removed the evidence.

Back at Grimmauld place where he had been moved reluctantly, the order was incensed. Apparently, rough sex with a muggle boy was not an order approved activity. Harry had tried to muster up the old feelings of shame he might have felt, but all he could feel was indignation and annoyance.

Not one letter, not even to say that they were coming and they felt they had the right to preach to him.

Harry was going to bring up his place in the war, to point out that they expected a ‘young boy’ to kill for them, but had remembered Dumbledore’s ridiculous insistence on silence regarding the prophecy. If the order had half a brain, they could have guessed something similar anyway.

He had felt the anger licking at his toes, threatening to overtake him, and saw Moody twitch in his direction. That was enough to stop the shadows from overflowing, but when he spoke, his voice carried his anger well enough.

“I did not ask to be moved here. I did not ask to have people watching me. I did not ask for anything you think of as a given when it comes to me, and it makes idiots of all of you to think that I did. If you do indeed, possess a brain, and realise that I did not want any of this, then you’re just as bad for going along with it regardless.”

Harry had left the order in silence, and walked swiftly to his room- Sirius’ old room, which was where he was now.

In a couple of hours, the rest of the order would arrive. He would be talked at and mentally dissected, prodded and condescended to.  He would barely be able to breathe.

There was a possibility that Hermione and Ron would arrive, a high one, and he still hadn’t decided what to do about them.

So for now he lay stretched out on a dust covered bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought of smooth, pale thighs.

They were pleasant thoughts.

 

_ Lily’s journal 02/12/79 _

_It has been confirmed. I’m pregnant. This would not be such cause for alarm if James wasn’t infertile; the baby is undoubtedly That Mans._

_I feel ill. I’m carrying a piece of him with me wherever I go now. I can’t escape him._

_James insists on keeping it. If it was discovered that the house of Potter was unable to bear heirs, he fears what would happen._

_I don’t want to keep it._

_It’s not fair on me or the child to ask this of me. What child wants to know his mother hates him?_


	2. Bursting at the seams

** Authors note:   ** _Remus will not be on Harry’s side in this story. Sorry to all you Remus fans._

** Warnings:  ** _This chapter contains gore._

** Disclaimer: ** _I do not own Harry Potter._

__

_ Excerpt from the book “Old magic: The Mother” as transcribed by Lukas Micanalos, 1943 _

_From the moment of conception, a child has magic. There is debate in the muggle world over when a foetus actually develops enough to be called a living being, but it is different in the magical world. As soon as conception occurs, the child’s magic links to the mothers, and forms a symbiotic relationship. The child receives all nutrients and oxygen this way, and the mother’s magic temporarily increases in order to better weather the pregnancy and protect the unborn child. Due to magic, magical babies have no need for umbilical cords as muggle, or muggleborn children do._

_Due to the scarcity of magical children in our world, aborting a child is seen as a one of the ultimate taboos. Only those who fall under the bloodline act of 1763 are able to be considered; even then, the social ramifications and fallout are profoundly negative._

_XxX_

Harry was jolted into awareness when a hand pushed him out of bed. The large hand- calloused and dirty- belonged to a surprised Ron.

Hermione stood by the door with Ginny, one hand to her mouth in amusement. She coughed a little and walked over to help Harry up.

“Sorry mate, I didn’t think that would, ah, happen. You were half off the bed mate!”

Harry ignored Hermione’s outstretched hand pushed himself to his feet, staring blankly at the three. Ron was looking at him strangely, but Hermione had a knowing expression on her face. Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Hermione overrode her.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t write Harry. We wanted to so badly- all three of us- but Dumbledore explained that we couldn’t.”

She was looking at him beseechingly, but Harry said nothing.

“The mail would have been tracked Harry! V-Voldemort could have found you.  It wasn’t safe; you know that! We’re sorry.”

No reply was forthcoming, and Ron began to look annoyed.

“At least answer her mate, we can’t talk about it unless you say something.”

Harry looked back at the bed where he had been sleeping pleasantly, and then at the three unwanted people in front of him. The door behind the youngest Weasley was open and welcoming, and seemed like the fastest route he had to peace. He was tired, and already starting to feel the effects of his inheritance draining him. The last thing he wanted was this confrontation.

Still silent, he walked past Ron and Hermione, and around a fidgeting Ginny. He closed the door gently behind him, and was amused when loud cursing was heard from the other side. Apparently Ron had run into the door.

He made his way down the stairwell, past a quiet Lady Black, and into the kitchen where the inner circle of the order had gathered and were gossiping like old women. They shut up as soon as he appeared, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. Moody snorted, and slowly, the sound built up again.

Harry looked around the room, noting the empty seats where Remus and Mundungous usually sat. Snape sat in the corner as usual, and Harry felt a sharp spike of rage when he saw him; Snape’s face was blank, but he hadn’t taken his eyes from Harry.

Slowly, he smiled.

Harry managed to contain his apoplectic feeling of violence towards him. _Sirius was dead, Sirius was dead, Sirius was dead. It shouldn’t matter anymore. Sirius was dead. Anger would do nothing except make more problems, which he didn’t need, or want. Snape was an immature, grudge-holding asshole, but he had a role to play. Harry could deal with it. Besides, hadn’t Harry seen Sirius as a means to an end anyway? Hadn’t Sirius been a convenient substitute for a family? He loved Sirius, but he wasn’t going to lie to himself. It was more that he loved the_ idea _of Sirius._

So just as slowly, Harry smiled back.

Behind him, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had finally made their way downstairs, Hermione pulling Ron by the hand towards the far end of the room, past a frowning Snape and quiet twins. They stood against the grey wall, where they conversed in hushed whispers and looked beseechingly at Harry.

Suddenly the fire flared, and out stepped the headmaster, dusting his robes down and smiling widely. He was wearing what appeared to be a sensible pair of green robes, but when he moved Harry could see the inside, and it was the same violent orange as Ron’s room. Harry wondered if they were custom made.

Dumbledore looked around the room, giving a friendly nod to those who greeted him. He spotted Harry by the door and flicked his eyes questioningly towards Harry’s friends. Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping completely in to the room and taking a seat pointedly as far away as possible.

Dumbledore sighed slightly, and took his own seat to address the listening Order.

“Firstly, welcome, welcome. Is everybody comfortable? Yes? Yes? Good.

Well then. I called this meeting today to officially welcome Mr Potter back from his relatives. Not only that of course, that would be a bit much-“

He chuckled delightedly,

“-but because Mr Potter will be going through his inheritance tonight. We are all here to act as buffers and circuits for any loose magic that will be released.”

The room began to fill with murmurs; some were looking at Harry with expressions of wonder-in some cases relief. A few looked alarmed.

“All of us Headmaster? Is that really necessary? Surely not.”

Diggle fidgeted nervously, wiping sweaty hands on his robes.

“I understand that he’s the boy-who-lived, but surely that’s no reason to believe he’ll need 12 grown wizards. My boy only had three, and he’s very smart you know.”

Snape sneered.

“Of course he’s smart Diggle-he has no choice but to be. He has no measure of magical power at all. Doesn’t he work in archiving?”

Diggle flushed and looked down, too intimidated by Snape to defend the obvious slight to his family.

“No. As loathe as I am to praise Potter in any manner, his magic is…pungent. The average wizard has 5 or so.”

“And you Snape, how many did you have?”

A sneering Diggle was leaning forward, face purple with momentary courage and bravado.

Snape clicked his tongue.

“Hogwarts was in session Diggle, how many do you think there were?”

A few people snickered, but a frowning Dumbledore made them settle down.

“Alright then. Semantics aside, Mr Potter is not at Hogwarts, and isn’t afforded the liberty of staff protection. Mr Malfoy went home for his inheritance, and I know for a fact he had 9 very strong, very capable wizards there to ground him.

Both Mr Weasley and Ms Granger had 6 wizards there on the occasion.

Ron and Hermione looked both pleased and embarrassed by the softly spoken congratulations that rounded the table, but Ron looked irritated now that he knew he had had 3 less than the ferret.

From his place near the door, Harry was gritting his teeth and breathing deeply. Bile filled his throat, and he swallowed it thickly.

Harry had only learnt about how inheritances worked by chance, last year when he had overheard a pair of Slytherins in the year above talk about them in surprisingly excited tones.

He had never thought of his 16th birthday as anything beyond another day of boredom at the Durselys; another day of being the boy-who-lived to be ridiculed.  Wizards gained adult status when they reached 17 after all. He was intrigued, so he had gone to the library under the pretence of studying for potions. He had nearly asked Sirius about it, but had found a very informative book before he needed to.

The book had been called _Magical inheritances of adolescent beings_ , and it was full of all sorts of interesting, unknown facts Harry felt he should have known.

One of the most intriguing of the facts talked about Magical buffering, and how a wizard needed a regiment of magically mature wizards with them when they went through the inheritance. Depending on the predicted power of the wizard, a certain amount of adults were needed; the adolescent wizard would be wrapped in a cocoon of chaotic, potentially lethal magic until they had matured, and it would be the regiment’s job to ensure the magic didn’t rupture or leave the containment area. Only those who were trusted most by the maturing wizard would be allowed in the danger zone; these people would protect him from both himself and outside influences. The others usually waited outside, in a different room.

Most people overestimated the amount of wizards needed so that no deaths occurred and as much damage as possible was contained. Harry mental jeered at Diggle’s overestimation of only three wizards for his son. A better wizard would have brought at least 5.

So yes, Harry had researched the phenomenon, and had nearly gone to inform Hermione and Ron before he remembered two very important and very unpleasant things.

Hermione, while in Harry’s grade, was nearly a full year older than the other students. She had missed the cut-off when she turned 11, and had turned 12 at the beginning of their first year. While this was fascinating, what it really boiled down to was one thing.

Hermione had known.

She had to have known, she would have gone through it. According to the book, as a muggleborn undergoing full-time study, she would have had to contact her headmaster and ask for assistance.

Not once had she mentioned anything to Harry, and up until now, gave no sign of Harry even having a birthday.

Ron was just as bad. As a pureblood, blood-traitor or not, he would have known about something as important as this. Harry wondered if maybe Ron had simply assumed he had already known, but he had a sick feeling in his stomach that that wasn’t the case. Ron horded things Harry didn’t know or couldn’t do to himself like chocolate frogs.  Ron simply hadn’t told him out of spite.

All in all, Harry had only been told about inheritances when Sirius had died, up in Dumbledore’s office. Harry had just been told the prophecy. The room was in ruins, destroyed by Harry’s uncontrollable magical outburst, and he had made to leave the room to settle himself and meditate on only _one thought_ at a time, when Dumbledore had called him back.

What had followed was a conversation that Harry had listened to with only half an ear. Mostly, he had been trying to prevent himself from leaping across the desk at Dumbledore and breaking his already crooked nose.

According to the venerable Albus Dumbledore, there was nothing to be alarmed about. The pathways to his magical core would finally all be open and available for use. He might grow a few inches, or develop a magical talent- particularly of the Potter line- but nothing else. He might find himself developing a talent for transfiguration like his father.

Because of his assumedly large core, he would need a large party of magically mature wizards to balance his transition so that nothing destructive happened by accident. He was to be collected from the Durselys on the 30th of July, the day before his birthday, and not a day earlier.

 Harry knew not to bother asking Dumbledore if he could stay at Hogwarts for the summer. Dumbledore was either blind to abnormal family dynamics, or a very good, very soulless actor.

Either way, Dumbledore had given him a very simplified account of what was going to happen, but Harry was too tired to ask any further questions like he might usually.

He had nodded at Dumbledore, bowed towards the portraits and left.

So now here he was, only a few hours away from magical maturity, and he couldn’t be more apathetic.

The order was talking about him as if he wasn’t there, Harry’s friends included. They were discussing post locations, and who would go into the room with him. Hermione and Ron were nodding and looking serious, and Harry had the disturbing feeling they were talking about being there. He sneered mentally and flipped them off.

Ginny was looking at him from beneath her fringe with bright eyes. Harry caught her eye and gave her a slow, teasing wink. He let his eyes wander over her more delicate areas, and smirked before turning to face an oblivious Molly, leaving Ginny to flush violently. Ginny looked boyish enough to make such a flirtation bearable, but her low cut top made any delusion hard. Why Molly had let her wear it, he had no idea.

Regardless, Harry let the noise wash over him in waves, closing his eyes and retreating to the room he had created in his mind. He still didn’t know full Occlumency, but meditation had borne him this.

It was a library, small and shadowed, with a comfortable chair in brown leather near the only source of light. He sat down and felt his imaginary muscles relax.

Memories were stored in every word of every book, all written in parseltounge. People could get into his mind, but they wouldn’t be able to understand it.

_Not unless the Dark Lord tried again_ though Harry, looking heavily at a door opposite him. In stark contrast to the dank cosiness of his library, the door was huge and made of steel. It had as many deadbolts as Harry had had at Privet Place and was currently emitting a cold chill that made Harry frown in annoyance.

He rose agitatedly and absently thought up some Parchment and a quill. The walls of the library were beginning to tremble, and Harry felt the beginnings of a massive headache creep up on him.

He had only just arrived. Couldn’t he have 5 minutes of peace before he needed to face reality?

He grit his teeth, and put the feather to paper, writing as tidily as his irritation allowed.

Lord Voldemort,

For the sake of both of us, I am asking for a temporary ceasefire during the period of my inheritance. If you accept this proposal, it would be greatly appreciated if you could participate in something as peaceful as being a Dark Lord allows.

We are linked by a very strong mental path. Any difficulties I have tonight will be experienced by you as well. I would remind you that you will receive a temporary boost of magic as a result of this link. The smoother the inheritance goes, the greater the excess you will receive.

I do not expect a reply,

Harry Potter

Harry knew the letter could be construed as impudent, or reckless, but his blood was boiling and roiling in sympathy to his upcoming inheritance and his head was cracking open in pain. Books on the shelves were shuffling and switching places in blurs of frantic motion. He was a boy, a teenager, a boy again; he was darkness and he was flesh.

He was nothing yet.

He stumbled his way over to the door and leaned his aching forehead against it. He clenched his eyes tightly together and breathed out shortly, and with a click, a slot appeared. Harry raised a shaking hand and pushed the letter through, running his fingers over the slot to seal it.

Why was everything escalating so quickly? Why had no books mentioned this pain?

Shadows rose up and wound around him, holding him cautiously; but despite their steadily darkening forms, they held no solid comfort.

The floating candles that had dotted the roof began to hiss and go out, and the darkness grew bolder in its approach towards Harry. It was whispering softly, rasping faint words of solace into his ears.

If Harry was in any less pain he might have questioned the occurrence or resisted in some manner, but as it was, he let vague recollections and fragile memories reassure him.

The darkness held his name on silent lips, but he heard it clearly. It knew him.

_Harry…_

_Harry Potter…_

“Mr Potter!”

Harry opened his eyes with a start, clinging white-knuckled to the wooden arm rests. The entire order was silent and looking at him; Dumbledore in particular looked concerned.

“Harry my boy, are you alright?”

Harry straightened in his seat, forcing himself to take a calm breathe and to force the pain away, back to the library and the dark.

“Yes professor Dumbledore, it’s just a small headache.”

Harry’s voice was hoarse and tight, but the order said nothing.

Dumbledore nodded.

“That my boy is a sign of a strong inheritance. I myself was in bed with a migraine all day the day before my 16th birthday. It’s a pity we can’t give you something for the pain.

I imagine this meeting is coming to an end now anyway.”

He looked at the order members, who all nodded or murmured something agreeable, except for Snape who did nothing except continue to glower. A few people were discussing what Dumbledore had just told them about his own inheritance with reverence.

Dumbledore nodded again and turned back to Harry, clearing his throat and smiling.

“Harry my boy, we know you’ve taken Sirius’s room, and we have no problem with you staying there, but it will be easier if you use one of the smaller rooms for tonight. That way we will be in closer proximity to you, and Hermione and Ron can be more comfortable. The main bedroom is still rife with traps and features that Sirius didn’t see fit to disable that are quite a hindrance to muggleborns and unwelcome visitors.

Harry quirked his eyebrow.

“Well, headmaster, while your concern for Hermione and Ron touches me, and your assumption of my skills at evading such problems warms my heart, when was I consulted on who would go in to the room with me?

Why would you assume I would trust them with my well-being, when I can’t even trust them to send mail?”

Ron was flushing as brightly as his mother at the slight, and opened his mouth to rip into Harry, when a frustrated Hermione spoke first.

“We told you Harry, it wasn’t safe! We thought you would have realised that and put your own needs aside in the face of actual, real danger!”

Silence fell at the table, and Hermione abruptly shut up when she realised all of the attention was on her.

Harry stood slowly and leaned forwards, placing his hands squarely on the table. When he spoke his words were dripping in condescension.

“I’m surprised that as a muggleborn, you don’t know what a phone is Hermione. The Dursleys are listed after all, even if your parents aren’t. And Dobby- did he never cross your mind? The wards are quite accessible to house elves; I learnt that in second year. Even passing on a message to Ms Figg would have been nice.

But no, I’m sure you’re right. It would have been too much effort to find a way to communicate with your emotionally shattered, grieving and physically injured best friend. Especially because you know how loving and supportive the Durselys are, right Hermione?

Hermione looked mortified and angry all at once, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was because she felt guilty, or because she hadn’t wanted him to dissect her faults in front of the order.

Either way…

“The only person I truly want to be with me as I went through this is Remus, and he isn’t here.”

Harry turned to Dumbledore and waited for an explanation. Surely Remus would have been summoned for this meeting- _this_ one especially. He almost felt closer to Remus than he had Sirius, who had remained in a constant state of emotional turmoil and had never truly left the past. Remus was the one he talked to about his uncertainties and dreams; the one who sat with him in silence when he needed it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and smiled benignly.

“Remus is currently quite ill as a result of the upcoming full moon. He was in too much pain to make it, but told me to pass on his greetings.”

Harry sat down heavily, staring at his fingers as they clenched and unclenched. He felt a weight dragging his heart down, all the way into the bottom of his stomach, where it settled like lead. Something bitter and slimy crept up his throat and onto his tongue, but he swallowed it in silence.

The full moon was in 10 days.

He was being avoided.

Remus couldn’t take the time to put aside his grief to be there for the most important night in Harry’s life.

Severus POV

At the other end of the room, in the corner, Snape shot Dumbledore a startled look. He hadn’t expected the wolf to be absent for this- not for mini Potter.

The boy looked uncaring, but Severus could see the uncertainty beneath it. Obviously Lupin not being here was causing him some form of emotional turmoil. Severus felt a reluctant twinge of sympathy pierce him; he remembered his own inheritance with only fond memories. It had been one of the few good days he had ever had.

He had had Lucius in the room with him- a special room provided by Hogwarts for the occasion- and had managed to get Regulus and Lily to stop fighting for long enough to sit together outside, waiting for him. They hadn’t been old enough to enter the room, but he had felt their presence regardless.

The teachers had linked their magic to the wards in lieu of being physically present, but that was protocol. Any pain he might have felt was negligible in the face of finally feeling accepted; finally feeling like somebody cared enough about him to protect him, even at their own risk.

He didn’t like Potter. He thought he was arrogant and troublesome and completely unlike Lily, but he wasn’t completely blind.

Severus Snape hated Sirius Black more than he had loved Lily Potter. He was glad he was dead, and had toasted his passing with Whiskey in the company of an amused Lucius. His death was an ever present sigh of relief trapped in his throat, but he knew he stood alone in feeling like this.

He had watched Potter for years, noting things that did not please him. He arrived at Hogwarts too short, too thin, and too frail in general, but he was loud and defiant, and it was James all over again. He had seen the brashness in his actions, and the mindless Gryffindor mentality, but he had also been aware of many other things that Dumbledore had not been. The boy frequently visited the library under the cover of nightfall, writing a list of things he did not know, and things he had to learn. He had seen the boy help hide two bleeding Slytherin first years from some graduating Huffepuffs, and had seen him later push those same Hufflepuffs from  a flight of stairs.

He had awarded Gryffindor one point.

Harry Potter was an enigma, and Severus had settled for neutrality concerning him, though sometimes he was hit by a streak of cruelty that he couldn’t stop.

Either way, the disdain he held for Lupin had increased. He had seen the wolf yesterday; he had been silent and pale, but chatting quite capably with an enchanted Tonks. Lupin was letting his emotions rule him, and Severus did not think they were favourable towards Potter.

XxX

The meeting had finally ended, and the members had left the kitchen to wander about the house and find rooms for themselves. Hermione and Ron had argued with him about being in the room, but Harry had cut right over their indignation and pleading, and asked the twins instead.

He’d been answered by the twins leeching themselves to his side and hustling him out of the room, past a puffed-up Molly, an absentminded Snape and a silently observing Lady Black.

He was currently in his room, lying tiredly on the bed. The pain was unavoidable now, and it took all he had to keep from making a noise.

The twins sat beside the bed looking at him worriedly, but let him ride it out stanchly. Harry’s inheritance was nearly upon them, and no one else was allowed in the room. It was sealed.

They were holding hands, and their combined magic gently stirred the air around him. Their magic was calm and steady, and completely unlike how they acted. They gave rueful smiles at his questioning look, and pressed a long freckled finger to their lips for secrecy. Harry gave a choked laugh, and nodded painfully, before closing his eyes.

The pain was like nothing he had ever felt; completely different to how the books had described it. His skin felt like it had burst, split by hungry teeth crawling desperately from his stomach towards freedom. His own teeth had melted, dribbling down his chin in white rivulets, joined by the blood that streamed from tightly closed eyelids.

The bed, previously a deep green, was now covered in black flakes as skin sloughed off his body in large strips. His bones were on fire. He couldn’t scream even if he wanted to, his muscles were on fire too.

It spoke volumes for the twins that they merely sat beside him, staring at what was happening in horrified silence. This, whatever it was, was not meant to happen.

By now, the skin on Harry’s hands had tightened and split enough that the bone white of his fingertips was visible. His hair had completely fallen out, and his muscles had seized, leaving him lying paralysed.

He looked like an unflattering statue of a de-robed dementor.

Harry couldn’t breathe. His body was ripping itself apart, and now he couldn’t breathe.

He had the startling thought that he was going to die, and that he really didn’t want to. It was a strange thought to have, but not unwelcome. A bit futile though, considering the circumstances.

He heard a clock in the hallway begin to strike twelve. It was melodic and enchanting, which made an odd contrast to the strange choking sounds the twins were making. Harry supposed they were in shock. Harry thought he might be too, now that his nerves had literally been fried and he could think clearly. How he could think clearly, Harry didn’t know, but he thought that maybe he had gone insane, and he really couldn’t.

His body, shaking and skinless, began to rise from the bed. The air began to whirl and snake around his body, gently at first, and then darkening and thickening and expanding until the only thing the twins could see of Harry was the top of his head, which was steadily being enclosed by the black cocoon of magic.

Fred and George didn’t move. Their friend and investor had just disappeared into a lethal ball of pure energy after being skinned and burned alive. They had no idea what to do. They couldn’t leave the room. They couldn’t move beyond their chairs. They couldn’t even make a sound. They were stricken with horror and obligation.

So they did the only thing they could do. With a short, anxious look at each other, they began to direct their magic again, clutching each other’s hand tightly as they thought only of their respect and love for Harry, and how desperately they wanted him to live.

_ Lily’s journal 19/12/79 _

_I asked James about aborting the foetus yesterday. I told him that we could start again from scratch in the future. There are potions we can buy to animate his sperm. We could blood adopt._

_I was informed of the stigma behind abortion in the magical world; it puts the debate in the muggle world to shame._

_Because of the rigidness of the bloodline clause, James would need to have a full medical examination to prove his identity. This would include his fertility._

_This child cannot be removed. If I went to the muggle world for an abortion, I would die of a magical backlash._

_I fear that James is actually growing excited about having this child._


	3. The hollowness of steel

** Authors note:   ** _I like the twins. They’re pretty much asexual in this fiction though, so no slashing with Harry._

** Warnings:  ** _This chapter alludes to an unrequited slash pairing._

** Disclaimer: ** _I do not own Harry Potter._

_ Excerpt from the Legal document ‘Familial politics’, section fifteen, part 6: The bloodline Clause. 1763. _

_ Obstruction _

_If a witch is full with child that is not her Lord and lover’s, the man whose seed bore the child can be taken to court for attempted deprivation of an heir, and the foetus aborted or borne at the victim’s discretion. If the woman was a willing participant to this occurrence, she too can be taken to court._

_ Line Theft _

_If a witch is full with child that is falsely claimed as a noble wizard’s, that wizard may take her to court for line theft, and have the child aborted or borne at their own discretion._

XxX

It was three in the morning and Dumbledore was sitting with Severus and Alastor in the living room.

Both Severus and Dumbledore were doing paperwork; Severus was fleshing out his notes on a revised potion for the nerve damage incurred by the cruciatus curse, which he would present at a conference next week.

Moody was pacing, as he had since the meeting had let out, constantly flicking his spinning eye towards the ceiling where a haze of magic blocked his sight. He was blind to Potter’s room, and it was making him more irritable than he usually was. He kept eying Snape suspiciously; flinching as his magic pulsed in time with Dumbledore’s to inspect the house. Moody’s own magic cycled in the opposite direction to them, avoiding the other’s whenever possible.

The silence was thick and heavy, punctuated only by the scratching of quills and coughs from other rooms. Moody’s peg leg was charmed for silence.

Dumbledore sighed and stood up, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his arms and back in loud relief. He cleared his throat and turned to Moody to say something, but as he did, the house shook violently. Dust fell thickly from the roof coating everything in a thick grey rug; a random Doxie hiding in the curtains sneezed itself clear across the room.

Dumbledore shared a sharp look of alarm with Moody before rushing out of the room, straight toward the room where Harry was. Snape had left as soon as the shaking started, a good few seconds before Dumbledore, and was standing outside of the glowing door with the rest of the order.

Dumbledore pushed his way towards the front of the group, standing next to a concentrating Snape.

“We still can’t enter. His magic has trapped them.”

The professor spoke quickly and quietly, eyeing a hysterical Molly Weasley.

Dumbledore frowned, putting one hand up against the door, before hissing and pulling it away.

“It’s taking no chances is it?”

Moody was herding everybody else out of the narrow hallway and directing them back to their previous locations. They were told to maintain their vigil, and that they could do nothing more at present. A few looked resistant, but having both of Moody’s eyes focused on you at once was a harrowing experience, and they gave in quickly.

He re-joined Dumbledore and Snape, who were debating the best option to proceed with. Dumbledore was eying the rapidly spreading cracks that were appearing in the walls with caution and trepidation, and was arguing with a flushed Snape over whether or not they would stay or leave.

Snape was arguing quite adamantly that they stay and funnel their magic towards the barrier more directly; giving it the strength and reassurance it needed to safely complete the inheritance, without destroying the street. Potter was stupid and foolhardy, but his magic was reasonable enough. He had an iron control over it that most did not have. Surely Potter wouldn’t let it harm them, even while unconscious?

Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who wanted to leave and he was arguing quite heatedly.

“The magic is wild Severus, can you not feel it! Something is not right here, and we should not be taking chances on suppositions! Harry will live, he is bound by prophecy, but we may not!”

Snape sneered widely, baring his teeth.

“And the two ginger menaces? What of their lives? Or are they collateral? What of the muggles that live on this street? The children?”

Very quickly, Dumbledore whipped his wand towards Severus, sealing his mouth shut with a borderline dark spell that fused his lips painfully together. Steam spiralled upwards from where his lips had just been melted- thin, black, and smelling of cooked meat.

Severus looked furious, but not as furious as an advancing Dumbledore.

“I remember every life I’ve ever taken Severus; either directly or not. It stains your soul.

I do not like it. I do not condone it. But sometimes it is necessary. There are nine other magicals in this house that stand a great chance of dying if we stay. It is two for nine. At any rate, the muggles will not have long to live if we are not here to fight for them. I will feel every one of their deaths heavily on my soul, and I will be judged accordingly in death.

But now, it is for the greater good, and I will not consider otherwise.”

He turned his back and walked swiftly over to Moody, who looked amused at Snape’s pain and frustration; quickly, he told Moody to round up the others and have them floo to the Burrow, asking him to calm the Weasleys down and reassure them until he arrived.

Moody clunked off as swiftly as he could, avoiding a piece of the roof as it crashed into his path. The house groaned and quailed with each step he took.

Dumbledore sighed heavily and turned to Snape, unsealing his lips with a murmured phrase and a casual flick. He looked heavily at the door and bowed his head briefly, muttering prayers for forgiveness; it was something he would never say out loud, but he was glad that it was the twins who were in the room instead of Ms Granger- whose researching abilities were beyond parallel- or even Ronald, whom he had put so much work into.

He managed to feel a slight sense of guilt for these feelings, but a sharp cracking noise and the sudden appearance of magic that sizzled and spat in the air quickly chased that away.

A quick look around the hallway showed that Severus had left, probably back to Spinners end. It was for the best at the moment; if Snape had followed him to the Burrow, he would have had no end of difficulty in convincing the order that the twins were currently safe. Severus had surprisingly high morals for a Slytherin.

He would come back later in the day, and make it look like the house had collapsed after the inheritance had finished, so that Harry would not receive all of the blame- the poor boy. He’d make them into heroes. Of course, the house would not collapse if not for Harry’s inheritance, but a little bit of antagonism towards him might keep the boy on his toes.

He would have to find a way to rebuild the house though. It was the land that was under fidelus, not the building, so the area was still safe; he would have to have Ms Granger research ways to erect temporary housing. A tent would work, if only they had workable fireplaces.

The floor began to quake again, and with a start he realised that he still had not left. He shook his head in annoyance, gave one last look to the bulging door, and made his way to the living room, where the fire still burnt brightly.

He had no second thoughts.

XxX

Snape stumbled out of his fireplace both angry and incredulous.

The moment he stepped out of the fire, his arm had begun to burn more intensely than it ever had before.  He cursed his luck, and ran to his bedroom to get his cloak and mask, detouring to grab a potion for the pain as he did.

Dumbledore, _blasted Dumbledore,_ had left Potter and the twins alone in that house, right in the centre of a magical maelstrom.

Any chance there may have been of saving Potter and the twins was completely gone now; there were no wizards to contain the barrier. No matter what Dumbledore thought, Snape did not believe prophecy would keep the boy alive. Prophecy was subjective. Prophecy was dismissible. Prophecy _would not reach in and pluck the boy from certain death!_

He grit his teeth together, swung his cloak over his shoulders and apparated at once. The sick feeling in his stomach only increased with the type of transportation.

When he reappeared, it was in front of Malfoy manor, and not the dilapidated mansion he had come to expect. His mark had brought him here instead, so he buried his confusion behind strong occlumency shields, and strode swiftly to the door.

His knocking was answered by a trembling house elf, who took one look at him and grabbed his cloak, where it transported him in a whirl of colour and sound to a room he had never seen before. He smothered his rage at the impertinence of the house elf, and forcefully kept his appearance calm and neutral as he looked around the room.

It was white. That was the first thought to enter his mind. Everything from the walls to the ceiling and the furniture was a stark white that brought to mind hospitals and healing. There were no windows or doors, and no obvious source of light.

For a moment, his nausea and surprising panic over the potential loss of Potter were taken over by fear. Was this the day he was found out? Was this the day his true loyalties were revealed?

The only sign of his distress was a slight flaring of his nostrils, but before he could contemplate any solid form of action or further thought, a haggard looking Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shadows in one of the corners. He took one look at Snape and gave a tired smile.

“Severus. Thank Merlin it’s you.”

The look Snape gave him was flat, but his raised eyebrow asked everything he needed to.

“Come with me, it’s not safe to discuss anything, even here.”

Lucius walked forward and grasped a still stiff Severus by the forearm, pulling him into the corner where he noticed a door appear in the wall. They walked through it, Lucius still pulling Severus; Severus made the effort to walk alongside his friend as if everything was normal, but it was difficult.

Severus knew that he was here for a reason, and he had a feeling that the reason involved Potter.

The hall they were walking down was just as white as the room they had left behind, but there was no furniture, or paintings, or anything distinguishable apart from the door at the end of the corridor, which Severus supposed was their destination.

It was as white as everything else, but when they finally stopped in front of it, Severus could see that the door was actually brown, and was covered in millions of tiny runes of a stark white colour. The few he managed to translate before being dragged inside included containment and amplification, and the contrast between the two runes worried him.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the burning in his arm stopped entirely, and he stopped his thoughts on runes to look around for the Dark Lord; if he was also looking for potential exits, who could blame him? Except his Lord, of course.

The room was a polished dome of the same wood as the door, also covered in shimmering, glowing runes of white. In the centre of the room was a raised dais, seemingly grown from the floor, on which the Dark Lord lay. There were no exits. Even the door behind him had vanished.

Severus hurried forward to bow deeply, ignoring the sweat that trickled down his back. He stayed in his position, bent at the waist, until a cold voice bid him rise.

“Severus, my dear potions Master. Do you know why you are here?”

Severus straightened and chanced a look at his Lord who was staring at the roof with an aloof fascination. His skin glowed a sickly grey in the light of the runes.

“You are here, dear Severus, because of many things. Most of which include the… Potter boy.”

“My Lord-“

“Silence Severus! Oblige me. Let me talk for a while.”

Behind him, Snape could feel the worry emitting from Lucius, and felt his own curiosity and panic rise.

“Severus, today is Potter’s 16th birthday- did you know? Of course you did, you keep a closer eye on the boy than even I do, don’t you Severus?

Of course, this would not be so much of a problem, if only you told me what you learnt.”

The air spiked with magic, angry and betrayed.

“Potter knew you saw him push those Hufflepuffs down the stairs. He knows you follow him to the restricted section and let him study unabated. He knows this and regards you with a cautious respect. Even a varied form of…trust. Oh, he might act like he hates you, but really- he just overcompensates on the emotions he knows how to express.”

Snape was staring at the Dark Lord with wide eyes, stiff with incredulity and fear.

“Oh, I know these things Severus, and more. But I only learnt of them in the last hour or so.

Mr Potter is going through a terribly rough inheritance isn’t he? Suspiciously difficult for a boy with no great secrets in the closet. Except…”

Here he rolled his head to face Severus, and the potions master was surprised to see his Lords eyes glowing a bright green. The same green as Potter’s eyes.

“…it seems like Mr Potter may not be a Potter at all.”

The first thing Severus felt was denial, followed swiftly by confusion and panic. He looked at his Lord’s eyes and felt something in him sink.

The Dark Lord laughed an almost amused laugh.

“Not me, not me! Use your brain Severus, I know you have one. Think back to my experiments, back when I was…mentally unbalanced.”

Severus nearly snorted, before he caught himself. The Dark Lord was still insane.

Another amused laugh, followed swiftly by a loud, hacking cough rang throughout the chamber. Lucius strode forward and gently fed the impaired Lord some water, taking care not to spill anything.

“I know your thoughts Severus; I can see what you think. This room completely obliterates mental obstructions after all, among other things.

Before today, I would have killed you for thinking them, but something has changed, and I put it all down to your Mr… Potter.”

Snape looked at the Dark Lord again, and was ensnared by green eyes. They were flickering. Green, grey, red. Green, grey, red.

He thought back to the only conclusion that made sense, and felt a sense of incredulity so unbelievable, it must have showed on his face.

“Ah yes. You and Regulus both thought he was infertile didn’t you. That was the only reason he participated in my little experiment without much thought to the consequences.

He was- you were quite right. But then Lucius told me of this room.

This room, worth more than all the gallons in the Malfoy vault, made the impossible, possible. Why, if not for this room, I would be as bad as Mr Potter currently is right now. Mr Potter would not even exist.”

He paused to cough again, and Severus saw blood.

“So much to my amusement and satisfaction, it appears that Mr Potter is, in all actuality, Heir Black.”

So many thoughts ran through Snape’s mind that he felt an immediate headache. Lucius was still tending to a sickly Dark Lord, and said Dark Lord was still staring at him, a knowing glint in his eyes, but most prominent in his thoughts was Regulus.

Regulus and he had been close friends- just as close as he had been with Lily. Closer in some respects.

They had been separated by one year, but both had clung together and weathered the Marauders hate, their parent’s disappointment and their dreams dying together.

 It was to Severus that Regulus had confided his infertility. It was almost as bad as being a squib in the magical world, and Regulus spent no end of time worrying about it. His parents had made him heir to the house of black without Sirius knowing, and he woke up every day with his childless future weighing him down. It may have seemed an odd thing for a teenager to worry about, but wizards had always valued children highly, and Regulus was no exception. Any child of a noble line must be borne from a fertile Lord’s loin. No potions, no surrogates, no spells. Just blood and semen. His parents would have reinstated their Gryffindor, disgrace of a son as heir faster than Regulus could blink if they had known.

 In particular, Regulus mourned the opportunity to prove his parents wrong, and be a proper pure-blooded father who showed his child all the love they deserved. Regulus had yearned for the unconditional and uncomplicated love of a child. That had been _his_ dream. But he would rather be infertile and have it known eventually, than stoop to artificial means. The prejudice was born of reason after all; it wasn’t baseless- and he was loyal to his family. Family magic could only be born into, and even then, only to particular people. Before Regulus, his uncle Alphard had been the only one with the Black family magic alive.

Sirius had been a disappointment from birth.

Lily had been jealous of Regulus. He was intelligent, good-looking and powerful, and though she too was all of these, she had seen the connection between Severus and Regulus that she could never emulate. Regulus had treated her with the same ambivalence he treated everybody not Severus or Lucius, prodigy or not.

She had hated it, and eventually, him. It had been this hatred that caused the split between Severus and Lily, and not the ‘Mudblood incident’, as most believed. They had called each other worse things before and then continued on as normal, Lily had not been the peaches and cream witch people had seen her as.

In fact, Lily had been dreadfully bitter towards purebloods, and filled with a sense of entitlement that stemmed from her parents favouritism. But she had been clever and charming, and filled with an inner light, and it was for these reasons that Severus had clung to her friendship. He had no light to speak of.

But as Severus carried on his trip down memory lane, something alarming began to occur to him. Something he remembered Regulus mention only in passing.

Toujours Pur

A family motto, and not very surprisingly, a blood rooted spell.

Ignoring for the moment the implications that Potter not being Potter would have on the war, he looked back at his Lord, choking down the panic that had seized him.

“Oh yes. I see you realise now. _Always pure_ , right Severus?”

At this moment, Potter was being killed, slowly and painfully. The Blacks had no love for mudbloods, and they ensured no ancestors of theirs would be tainted by impure blood. Never had a black had a child with a muggleborn, for fear of what would happen. That, and their hatred for muggleborns was legendary.

Potter was the first of impure blood to be born, let alone reach magical maturity.

As thoughts began to race painfully through his mind, the Dark Lord sighed and rolled back to face the ceiling.

“He will live Severus, but that is why I needed you here today.”

Lucius stopped sponging his Lords head briefly, continuing before most would have noticed the pause. But Voldemort and Severus noticed, and Voldemort continued.

“I discovered something today that surprised me, and will you and the boy I daresay.

Potter is a Horcrux.  My Horcrux.”

Lucius had stopped sponging his lord completely and was sharing a horrified look with Severus. They both knew what a Horcrux was, and they knew their Lord had a couple, but to think of a _living_ Horcrux…

“Oh don’t look so surprised. I was insane. From the moment I made my first one, I began to mentally erode.

I’m surprised you joined me of your own free will Severus. Lucius at least was bound by familial obligation, much like your Regulus.”

Lucius was giving a pale Severus a surprised look, and the Dark Lord continued, smirking when not grimacing in pain.

“Well, not exactly yours, but as close as you would get. Regardless, because of Mr Potter and my little gift to him, I have been dragged from insanity into a semblance of who I used to be. The link between us has no blocks now- no obstructions. I have full and unfettered access to both my Horcrux and the Potter boy’s soul and consequently, in this body, I am whole. Of course, now my Horcruxes are Potters too, especially if he continues to merge with both the Horcux, and my current sliver of soul. The prophecy will be moot. ”

The Dark Lord almost glowed in glee.

“My point, and it is pertinent, is that his father’s blood is ripping him apart. If he survives, I have no doubt he will be the most pure half-blood in existence, excluding me of course, because I am currently going through the same process; shared souls and all that.”

Lucius was staring at his Lord in shock, and Severus spared a second to smirk at his friend tiredly. Not many knew the Dark Lord Voldemort was a halfblood, and not many would believe it if told.

It was a moot point now of course, now that he wouldn’t be. But Severus imagined Lucius’ whole world had just been turned upside down. For his part, Severus was trying to shake the shadow of Regulus from his heart and focus solely on the current situation. It was difficult considering Potter was actually Regulus’ son, but the Dark Lord’s building rationality and candidness was quite effective. Severus had no idea why he wasn’t dead, but he assumed he was here to keep Potter alive somehow, and consequently, his Lord. His Lord seemed to be high on pain though, and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing what a rational, sane and pain-free Dark Lord was like, if he lived that long.

Beside the podium, Lucius merely blinked heavily, shook himself, and went back to keeping his Lord comfortable; Malfoys were attracted to Power, and though the foundation on which his servitude was based had crumbled, his magic still pulled him towards his Lord, creeping in hungry tendrils. He would build a new foundation. He would build a better one. Even debilitated, sick and weak, his Lord’s power sung to him.

“Severus, I know of your loyalties. I know where your heart lies. I killed Regulus because I thought he had betrayed me, but truly, I betrayed myself. I will not apologise, but I express to you my regret.

You have a choice now, to help or to hinder. I see the darkness in you, stronger even than the Malfoys- beaten only by the Blacks.

I ask you to lend me your magic, to salvage what we can of our young Mr Black. He trusts you, deep down. Use my connection to help him. To help me, if it pleases you. Lucius only has a slim chance of getting through to him.

The Dark Side will be rebuilt and I promise you, no harm will come to young Harry. Hurting him would be hurting myself.

The choice is yours.”

Severus was silent. His body felt odd, as if puppet strings he had not known of had been cut.

Lucius was looking at him carefully, but he could see the hope behind stern eyes. Even his Lord seemed apprehensive, obviously unused to giving others such power over him.

He knew that Pot- _Black_ and his Lord would likely die if he chose not to do this. With one negative answer, he could rid the world of a monster and a boy he had thought he hated both in one go.  He would probably be killed of course, by his friend no less, but still…

He knew his Lord had no choice but to ask him like this-he had to be willing for it to work after all. But the unease and frustration he could sense from his Lord made the decision come more easily. And in the end, Potter was not a Potter after all. He was Regulus’ dream made flesh.

Severus stepped up to the Podium.

XxX

Harry thought he was dead.

Wherever he was, it was pitch black. He didn’t know if he was lying down or standing up, but as his mind caught up to his consciousness, he began to hear voices.

They were low and soothing and vaguely familiar; he felt a hand begin to card gently through his hair. With a start that came with renewed senses, he sensed that he was lying on somebodies lap.

“Come on Harry, wake up mate. Come on.”

Opening his eyes felt like he had split his lids open with barbed wire, but he managed.

The first thing he saw was red.

He was in his mindscape, and apparently the Weasley twins were there too. His head was in the lap of one, and the other was holding his feet. They looked more pale than usual, and with a start, Harry realised they were see through.

George, the one holding his feet, smiled grimly.

“If you think we look bad, you should see yourself.”

Harry lifted a heavy hand to his face, and froze at the bone that greeted him. His entire arm was stripped back and gleaming, and a fascinated Harry watched as his skin and muscle began to slowly grow back, sprouting from his arm like a gruesome garden of flesh.

“It’ll disappear again in a minute.”

Fred sounded more calm than his brother, and continued to play with Harry’s hair.

“Do you know where we are Harry?”

The library was still. The books that had been frantically rearranging themselves a few hours before were stationary in the air- literal blurs of motion. The light that usually flickered gently was frozen in a subtle glow.

Harry tilted his head up to Fred.

“This is my mindscape. Obviously I retreated here to ride out the pain, but what are you two doing here?”

George looked his ghostly arms and sighed.

“Quite frankly, I don’t want to guess. What’s happening to you is bad enough. Do you have any idea what happened? This isn’t a normal inheritance.”

“Always different, our Harry.”

“Oh yes-”

“-very different.”

Harry grimaced and looked at the ceiling.

“I wasn’t even told about inheritances until a few months ago; I was only told the basics.”

“Well yes. You were told then-“

“-but you knew about them before, didn’t you?”

The twins were staring at him with dark, knowing eyes.

Harry laughed and grinned a skeleton’s grin.

“How people underestimate you two I will never know. Honestly.”

George nudged Harry with a flickering hand.

“Probably the same way people underestimate you. You sneaky little lion. Very slippery-”

“-like a snake-“

“-yes, yes, snakey little lion you are.”

Harry laughed gleefully.

“Alright, yes. I knew about them before, but nothing to describe this. The Potters had nothing too alarming in their ancestry to be wary of and apart from what I suspect may be memory blocks, I can think of no other reason at all.”

Although the mention of memory blocks had given the twins pause, the looks they were giving each other now, held a deeper meaning.

“Harry…”

“Does this place have a mirror?”

 Harry nodded, disregarding the twin’s odd behaviour for now, in favour of summoning a mirror from the air.

George held it tightly in both hands, and with a wary glance with Fred, turned it to face Harry.

At present, Harry’s head had skin. It had hair and lips and eyes and everything that made him seem alive and normal except for one thing.

The person looking back at him was a stranger.

His hair was pitch back, curling over his face in a riot of curls and waves. His skin was bone white and blemish free and his bone structure was noble and refined. The wide, alarmed eyes staring back at him were grey.

He looked nothing like his father, whose brown hair had been straight- if gravity deifying- and whose skin had been a natural olive. He defiantly did not have his mother’s green eyes either; even the shape had changed and become more cat-like.

He looked nothing like the boy he had been. Even his lips had thinned.

The twins were worried, he could feel it saturating the air, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Who the hell am I?”

George set the mirror down and moved to sit closer to his face.

“You’re our friend mate, lineage or not, but-“

“-Merlin, don’t take this the wrong way -“

“-it’s just an observation, but-“

“-you look like Sirius.”

While this was sort of true, Harry could see the differences. Sirius had had wavy hair and silver eyes, and his lips had been fuller and pinker.

Granted, he could see the resemblance, but he looked more like a cousin to Sirius than the man himself. Truthfully, he looked like the lovechild of a black and…

“Tom Riddle. Bloody Hell, I look like Tom Riddle.”

He could see Tom’s thick curls and Tom’s straight nose. He could see the invisible smirk at the corner of his lips that Tom had always kept, even while dying and when he opened his mouth, he could see a perfect set of teeth, much like Tom’s.

There was nothing of his parents in him to suggest he was a Potter, or even an Evans.

Was he even a Harry?

The twins had frozen and were looking at Harry with barely hidden alarm.

“Riddle-“

“-mate, Ginny told us of Riddle…“

Harry sighed, and resigned himself to losing someone else. He would deal with it, as he always had, but he never got used to the initial rejection or pain.

He could barely comprehend it himself. Had Dumbledore known? Had anybody? What was the truth in all of this? What-

Fred had started to run his fingers through Harry’s hair again, and George had leant forward to grasp Harry’s hands.

He had a desperate, confused look in his eyes.

“We’re here for you Harry. No matter what the truth is. No matter if we all die soon anyway. There’s just something…”

He frowned, and bit his lip in frustration.

“Your magic Harry- it draws us in. We’ve never felt more whole or accepted than when we’re near you.”

“There’s something called magical inclination. I don’t know if you know of it-”

“-I’d never really believed it, neither had Fred, but when we met you- tiny, and clueless- we just knew we would follow you anywhere. There was something more to you than even you knew I think. And those memory blocks probably explain it.”

He shared a dark look with Fred.

“We tried to ignore it, because it’s typically a dark sided trait, and Weasleys aren’t meant to be dark, but we reasoned that -if Harry Potter calls to us, there has to be a reason for it. It’s usually a dark trait because dark magic is so emotional. It gives it more strength than the sterile nature of light magic.

We thought maybe something of _that night_ had rubbed off on you. Maybe you were just an emotional person.”

 “And then we got to know you-“

“-we watched you-“

“-we learnt everything we could about you-“

-and it became about just Harry. You believed in us. You supported us where no one else had. You held our dreams in your hands and gave them back to us, whole and alive.

Whatever you do, or whoever you are, we’ll support you. Because our magic tells us-

_This is right. He is right._

And as purebloods, we grew up knowing the only solid truth of our culture.

_Magic is might. Trust in magic._

We couldn’t tell you before. We weren’t completely sure of what you knew.  

We were just going to watch over you and support you. Fight alongside you until death and help you in doing whatever codswallop Dumbledore told you to do.

But then this happened. We can feel it in the air now, the darkness and rage.

We never trusted Dumbledore, but we should have trusted ourselves and our magic all along-

“-we should have trusted you.”

“We’ll be yours for as long as you’ll have us-

“-if you’ll have us.”

Harry stared at the George blankly, who was flushed and out of breath.  He could feel Fred’s hand tremble where it was resting in his hair.

Harry had always liked the twins. He had seen a deepness to them nobody else had, but had left them alone for fear that they would resent the interference.

He knew of magical inclination- he had read of it while searching for information on inheritances, and knew there was one thing he could do to discern the truth.

It wasn’t reversible. Once done, there was no going back. The twins would be his as much as the death eaters were Voldemort’s, only more so.

Such an occasion was a gift.

The Malfoys were known for having inclinations. Lucius and little Malfoy were probably drawn to the Dark Lord by their very souls, as the twins claimed to be to him. It was why no Malfoy had ever been light and why they had flourished and thrived in every generation. The relationship was mutually beneficial.

They would never betray him. He could trust them implicitly and lay his life in their hands. In return, they would be more powerful, more mentally proficient, and happier in general. They would be under his protection.

It was why the light tried so often to disparage and discredit the Malfoys. It was an open secret.

He didn’t have to think all that hard to make his decision. They words spilled out of his mouth before he could even register he knew them.

“By blood, magic and soul, I call upon the two known as Fred Fabian Weasley and George Gideon Weasley to bind themselves to me. I will honour the binding as tradition dictates, for as long as this body has breath, and this breath has soul.”

Fred and George were frozen, but their reply- breathed out between stiff lips- sounded like thunder in the silence.

“So mote it be.”

Brilliant light flooded the mindscape, streaming out from between closed pages and dark corners. The floor began to shake, and the books began to move again, slowly at first, shuffling faster and faster until they were a brilliant blur of colour and sound.

Harry began screaming.

His body was growing and rotting in hyper speed, and the pain he hadn’t felt before was back- stealing his breath and setting him aflame.

The twins were flickering. Their hands were latched onto some part of Harry, clenching white knuckled and terrified. Bands of light were wrapped around their throats, connected in a rope to where a similar band glowed around Harry’s wrist. Magic trailed in thick knots and streams down the leash to Harry’s arm, which was the only part of Harry that stayed fleshed out and alive.

They could feel themselves dying.

Their magic was leaving them too much and too fast. Their toes were numb. Their feet. Their legs. Their body. Their vision was a shadowy vision of black and white.

It took too much energy to remain kneeling- even breathing was a horribly draining experience.

They lay down, slumped over Harry, both facing the brightest source of light and warmth they could see. It was a hole in the wall, beneath which they could see the twisted and smoking remains of a steel door. The light coming from it was steady and strong, but as they watched, it too began to falter.

They had no visions flash before their eyes. No scenes from a life they could barely remember. All they knew as they faded to black was a never-ending scream and a sudden, desperate flash of light.

XxX

_ Lily’s journal 02/02/80 _

_I can feel the link between us now. Any urge I had to abort the child has disappeared completely. I feel sick at the thought._

_What has not disappeared is the animosity I feel towards the child._

_I know it is not right. As a Christian and a Wizard, I am meant to love my child. But I don’t and I will not. This I know to be a truth rooted in the very marrow of my bones._

_James keeps asking me if he has kicked. He hasn’t, and I feel a foreign sense of panic and worry envelop me when I think of it. It is always followed by a sense of terrible glee._

_Wizarding children physically develop much faster than muggle children, and typically spend the rest of the time adjusting and growing magically._

_Yesterday James finished the nursery. It is blue and quidditch themed and entirely adorable._

_I hate it._


	4. Yellow brick road

**Authors note:** According to the Wiki, Merlin was a Slytherin. By golly, I’m running with it.

Once again, this will not be a Twins/Harry pairing. I do have some options for you however.

Below are my favourite choices for Harry listed in order of preference, but feel free to suggest otherwise, and explain why:

Fenrir Greyback/Harry

Cormac McLaggen/Harry

Marcus flint/ Harry

Victor Krum/ Harry

Percy/Harry

** Warnings: ** _This chapter contains allusions to rape, an insane Voldemort and_

** Disclaimer: ** _I do not own Harry Potter._

_“It is common knowledge among Purebloods that the magic of Purebloods and the magic of Muggleborns are two different types of magic. Far from what the sensational propaganda of the muggle-sympathisers would have you believe, only a wizard born from a wizard has a magical core. Really, there is no magical difference between a pureblood and a half-blood .In comparison, a muggleborn has no such core, and is born with a direct connection to the earth. It is from the earth that their magic is sourced. They leech from it without giving anything back, and all other earth bound creatures suffer for it._

_But you Arthur- you’re different. You have no magical relatives, and yet you possess a core. You hold an uncommon aptitude for sword play and defence that is unbeaten and unparalleled. You are a prodigy._

_You are no mere Mudblood._

  * _Merlin to a young Arthur Pendragon._



_XxX_

Fred awoke quite suddenly to the feeling of his throat burning.

He was on the bed slumped over something, and as he sat up he saw his brother do the same, both clutching at their neck in confusion. He had the niggling feeling he should be remembering something, but every time he tried, it felt like water slipping through his fingers.

His entire body ached, and felt strange, as if it was slightly out-of-place, but when he looked at his brother again, and then at himself, he saw that nothing was unusual.

A groan from the bed had them both snapping their head over to the thing between them, and with a start they realised it was a person. He was lying on his stomach, moaning pitifully, and Fred felt strangely compelled to help him.

George beat him to it, and rolled the man over gently, uncurling his arms from where they were clutched around his midsection. The man coughed harshly, and his eyes flew open.

Blue eyes met Grey, and everything that had been missing before flooded back into place.

Fred cursed, pulled Harry into a sitting position, and dragged him over to the edge of the bed right as Harry threw up.

Something thick and black gushed out, splashing the ground and bed thickly. Harry continued to retch and choke, and George rushed to his other side to hold his hair back.

“What’s going on?” George hissed. “It should be over!”

Fred looked at the blood, which had spread almost to the door, and looked helplessly back at his brother. He was in no state of mind for a discussion on impossible things.

“Master Black is being cleansed.”

Fred jumped and turned slightly to see Kreacher standing near the doorway, staring avidly at Harry.

“What did you say?” he asked, confused and angry by the elf’s appearance. “What do you mean by _cleansed_?”

The elf flicked his eyes to Fred briefly, focusing on his neck, before grinning a toothy smile and looking back at his shaking, blood soaked Master.

“Master Black is having pure magic, yes, even when he was nasty Potter boy. But the magic is not liking his muddy blood. Blacks be pure in _everything_ , Weasley boy.

The inheritance is over. Master is just cleaning up.”

The elf nodded to himself, and kept his eyes closely glued to his master. Every now and then he would look at one of the twins and laugh, before gazing at Harry with an odd, almost proud expression.

Fred was unnerved by the elf’s behaviour, but was relatively sure he wouldn’t hurt or hinder Harry in any way.

Harry waved his hands, and the twins moved back a little.

“My mouth tastes like dirt,” Harry rasped, “and compost. Is there still water on the table?”

Kreacher stepped forward slowly, vanishing the horrid smelling liquid as he did so, and carefully held a glass of water out to Harry. The glass was frosted with cold, and large beads of liquid rolled down its sides. Harry stared at Kreacher with a hard expression, but reached out to take the glass.

He threw it back and swallowed it all at once, ignoring the lurching spasms of his stomach as he did so.

Both twins watched with attentive eyes as Harry rubbed his stomach slightly and stared pensively into space, his lips twitching slightly at his thoughts.

“Thank you Kreacher”, Harry murmured hoarsely, “perhaps now I won’t cut off your head and place it with the rest of your family.”

Kreacher jumped slightly, and trembled as he stared at Harry; his hands twitched violently and his eyes watered.

 The twins were sure something unpleasant might happen, and found themselves tensing and leaning closer to their friend, when all of a sudden Kreacher burst into tears.

“Master would have put Kreacher in the special hall? Kreacher would have been so thankful- so proud! Kreacher sensed you would be a special Master, just like Master Regulus- but he didn’t know you would be honourable as well! Kreacher is privileged, Master, to be your elf.  Such an honour it is. Such an honour for house Black.”

Harry stared at the elf with an acute expression of bemusement, before sighing and tilting his head tiredly.

“You will tell me later what you meant by calling me Master, and what you meant by comparing me to your master Regulus. For now, go to the kitchen and make breakfast- enough for all of us. You will clean yourself, change from those horrible rags, and then spend time as you wish until I call you. Remain out of sight from anybody else, and answer to no one else but me,” he paused and looked over his shoulder, “and the twins.”

Kreacher couldn’t speak through his tears, and merely looked at them all and nodded, before popping silently out. Harry sighed again, and turned to the twins with a raised eyebrow.

“How novel.” He remarked. “I expected certain changes, but a sentimental Kreacher was not one.”

The twins merely blinked silently, before twitching violently and launching themselves at Harry. George dragged Harry’s arms and head to the top of the bed, and Fred pulled his feet across. A surprised Harry lay quietly as the twins ran reassuring hands over his body repeatedly, feeling for anything that felt abnormal or out-of-place.  He bore their strange actions stoically, until George’s hands ran abruptly between his legs and began feeling his groin with long, purposeful strokes.

Harry lurched upwards, and swatted them away, fixing them with a hard stare as they made to wrestle him back down. He noted their glazed eyes and reddened necks, and felt something click.

“You will calm down.”

His voice was low and dark, laced with something heavy.

“You will concentrate on my voice and nothing else. You will listen to me, and no one else.

I am fine. I suffer no physical impairments, no apparent mental impairments, and I’m quite sure my penis is fully functional and unharmed.” He shot a look at George with laughing eyes, and snorted.

“Focus on your necks; feel your connection to me. I am whole and unharmed. I am well. Now stop acting like muggles and use some common sense!”

There was a moment of tense silence, before the twins slowly came back to themselves.

“Muggles eh?” Fred poked Harry with a finger, rubbing his neck with his other hand. “Possess some disdain for our friendly neighbours do you?”

Harry snorted and reached over to drag a scarlet George into a hug, ignoring Fred, who huffed and put his nose in the air.

“It’s alright Georgey-boy; you’re not the first boy to be ensnared by the glory that is my manhood. Only the first that came right out and grabbed it.”

George choked, and Fred began laughing hysterically, wiping the tears that streamed from his eyes.

Harry reached over and dragged him into the hug as well, and held them there until they calmed down.

“So are you gay then Harry?” Fred asked when he had finally stopped bursting into random fits of laughter. “Gay wizards aren’t exactly looked kindly upon in our society.”

Harry rolled his eyes and leant back, gently pushing the twins back so he could have some room.

“I like fucking men Fred, I guess that qualifies me.”

Fred grinned unashamedly and shrugged.  “Some wizards experiment; it could be a phase.”

Harry’s eyes darkened, and he leaned in closely so that his mouth was right beside Fred’s ear; George was squashed awkwardly between them, his arms gracelessly splayed on either side of Harry’s ribs.

“I like the feeling of a man tightening around me Fred. I like taking a man- tall, confident and self-assured- and seeing him whimper as he moves beneath me. I like it Fred- a lot. The idea of a woman- a weak, soft woman- repeals me beyond words. I like a man’s smell,” he buried his nose in Fred’s neck, “their warmth,” he sighed gently and rested his cheek against the skin, “and mostly, their taste.”

Fred shivered as teeth scrapped his jaw, and a hot tongue soothed the sting pointedly.

Harry leant back and watched the twins casually, smiling darkly as Fred sat in complete silence, looking at nothing with wide eyes. George was staring at him warily, but his cheeks were coloured a dark red, and his pupils were wide.

He chuckled and stretched languidly, groaning as his joints popped and crackled. He peered briefly over the side of the bed, then swung his feet over and stood up in all his naked glory. He glanced at the bathroom, and then back at the twins.

“Society will have to deal with a saviour that likes men.”

He looked at the twins with gentle eyes, taking note of the overwhelmed set to Fred’s shoulders, and the tired, haunted expression on George’s face.

“Things will change. Gay, straight, unwilling to procreate- I will accept you. You could like each other and I wouldn’t care, beyond mourning the loss of two fantastic men for myself.” He smiled and tapped his wrist. “You belong to me now. Society takes a backseat.”

He left the twins sitting silently on the bed, and walked towards the bathroom.

“I’m having a shower.”

XxX

When Severus opened his eyes, he knew at once where he was.

The Malfoy hospital wing was white- as were most hospital wings- but a large ceiling covered by magnificent flying dragons and proud pegasi quickly drove his location home.

Beside him sat an exhausted Lucius, and on his other side, on a larger bed, lay his Lord.

Lucius had obviously fallen asleep unexpectedly, as evidenced by the spilt cup of coffee by his feet. Severus twitched towards the mess, his body automatically attempting to clean it even through its drowsiness; his work with potions had made him extremely reactive towards spilt liquids, or any form of substance strewn about where it ought not to be. He sighed when Lucius woke up, hoping to have a moment to himself before facing a curious Malfoy. Obviously Lucius had become something of a light sleeper since Hogwarts, or had set a monitoring spell upon Severus’s person, which seemed much more likely.

Lucius blinked blearily, and startled a little upon seeing two dark eyes watching him steadily.

“Severus. I thought you would be asleep for a few more hours at least.”

“Daily restorative potions,” was Snape’s short reply.

He felt like he had swallowed bark. Uttering even that had made his mouth dry up and his throat swell; remarkably, his body was pain free, if not heavy.

He pushed the covers back with both hands, and sat up against the headboard, looking at the Dark Lord with a blank expression, before turning back to Lucius.

“How is he?”

“Physically, he’s fine,” Lucius replied, “his body is the best it’s been since his restoration; he appears to be turning more human in appearance.”

Severus noted that his friend appeared lighter, even through his tiredness.

“I am…glad,” Severus murmured, and surprisingly he was.

_Flashback_

_He had seen things last night he had not thought feasible- trapped in a mental tug-of-war between his Lord and the P-Black boy. He had seen the boy –encased by two glowing halos of light- and felt his lord’s fascination.  Their link, coated in a sickness so innocuous he hadn’t noticed at first, had shaken and trembled beneath his feet, and it had fought his lord with a mindless, animalistic fear as he struggled closer to the boy. Eventually, they had touched- His Lord and the boy- and Severus had been driven blind and insensible. Memories not his own drove themselves into him._

_A boy not older than ten, crying silently as two older children thrashed senselessly at his feet. They were in a cave; he did not stop. There was blood._

_A younger boy with Green eyes, and a man. The boy was in a cupboard, beaten so much he blended with the darkness that shrouded him- the man was yelling at him, raising his fist. A scream, and suddenly the man was in the cupboard. The boy watched silently as the man fought invisible enemies. Then he laughed._

_That first boy again, older now. Once again there were people at his feet. Again there was blood. This time, he did not cry._

_The second boy, trying on a hat. There was a brief conversation, and then “Gryffindor!”. The boy’s mind had been altered beyond comprehension._

_The first boy, now a man, speaking powerful words. People bowed and he was God._

_The second boy, realising his darkness and ignoring it. He was pure and light. A Potter felt no hatred._

_The first, deformed. Mad._

_The second, fixing his mask._

_Over and over these memories ran on until quite suddenly, they stopped._

_When he could once again see, two things had hit him at once._

_Before his eyes he saw someone who could have been the twin of Regulus- taller, harder and somehow different, but there, and alive. He hadn’t been able to stop the mournful lurching of his heart._

_Secondly, almost as alarmingly, was the vision of his Lord, staring avidly at the boy clenched with white knuckles in his arms. Severus had been moved to alarm, suddenly desperate to save the boy who so looked like his Regulus, until wet, red eyes locked onto his._

_His Lord- a man of madness and power- looked… sane. The wet eyes were aware and cuttingly sharp, but possessed the wisdom of a man too old for this earth. They were the eyes Dumbledore possessed not too many years ago, behind his twinkling and before his manipulations._

_His lord looked back at the boy, and spoke._

_“I can feel him. Here.”_

_He touched long fingertips briefly to his chest, pausing briefly with some unuttered emotion, before lowering them to clutch at Harry again._

_“He is remarkable keen of heart, this boy. For one with such…darkness.”_

_Severus took a step closer, looking carefully at Voldemort as he continued talking._

_“I feel…whole.”_

_Harry lay quietly in the arms holding him, unaware and trusting. Tears had leaked from beneath closed eyelids- tears that an awestruck Voldemort carefully wiped away._

_“We are two halves of the same person now.”_

_Snape sat down awkwardly, confused by the emotional Lord in front of him. Surely he hadn’t been changed so drastically? Did a soul make such a difference?_

_“I have been so tired for so long…and I never realised”_

_Once again Red eyes met his, and Severus was reminded that this man was still raw, incomparable power._

_“You were not aware Severus, but for this to work, I had to first link my Power to his own. He would have lived. Once I made the connection, there was no finishing until he had recovered._

_The choice to merge souls- to banish my madness- was first made by him.”_

XxX

_ Flashback 31/10/79 Samhain _

_In front of Voldemort, stood two very special, pureblood wizards and one similarly attributed witch._

_The oldest was Aleksey Durov. Out of the three, his appearance was perhaps the most startling; his hair and skin were snow white, as were his eyes and clothing- his nails were long and black. He was a seer from a Russian line of wizards that routinely produced them. His own visions filled many a space in the British hall of prophecy, and nearly all were fulfilled._

_His family had relocated to England at the request of the Dark Lord, and enjoyed a life as one of his favourites._

_Beside him was Lucinda Diggs. She was a short, stocky woman with unremarkable features and a cruel expression. She was looking at the door behind Voldemort with sharp blue eyes and a miniscule smile. She was the last of her line, and her ability was tremendously rare; any spell she read of or saw, she had the capacity to perform instantly. It was lucky for Voldemort that her magical core was very small, and she was unable to challenge him for power. Diggs was a woman more power-hungry and cruel than even an insane Voldemort could hope to be and the world was a better place for her lack of similarly minded family._

_Lastly, was a young wizard named Regulus Black; though the youngest, he was the tallest and most Handsome. He stood calmly with his gaze focused on the Dark Lords feet, and let his riotous black hair fall where it may. Every now and then, his grey eyes would flick to the same door Diggs was looking at, and he would look away just as quickly. He was not the last living black, but he was the only one with family magic currently alive. Behind him, his shadow writhed and trembled in sickened anxiety. He let it, content that his Lord would mistake it for excitement._

_All three stood waiting for their Lord to speak._

_“My followers; you know why you are here today, of all days. You know what you must do._

_Behind me in a room are three muggleborn prodigies, all appropriately disguised and restrained. These muggleborns are our equals. They possess a core, just like we do; they are not mud bloods._

_It took me a full year to locate even three of them, as rare as they are; you will not irreparably damage them, or you will enjoy life as a eunuch in my dungeons._

_Today, you do what you must for the sake of progress.”_

_The door behind the Dark Lord cracked open and he laughed._

_“But try and have fun.”_

_Lucinda was the first to bow and leave, grinning widely as she walked hurriedly across the room and stepped into the darkness. Next was Aleksey, who had no change in expression as he too disappeared from sight._

_Regulus stayed stooped in a bow for as long as his Lord would allow, before slowly straightening and making his way to the back of the room. Already, he could hear screaming, and vaguely he wondered what Diggs must be doing to make the man yell like that. He felt strangely empty at the thought of what was happening and knew himself to be in shock._

_He heard a woman sobbing, and found himself unable to move._

_Beyond the door he knew a woman was waiting for him. He was expected to go in, have intercourse with her, and keep doing so until they were collected. He was expected to ignore her screaming and cursing, crying and pleading, and violate her._

_It had been two months since he had been informed of this plan, and he had not yet come to terms with it. He would never come to terms with it._

_He knew of only one muggleborn prodigy, and her name was Lily Potter nee Evans. He was certain she was one of the three collected._

_As much as he disliked her, he had no wish to have this happen to her. Worse yet, was not knowing which woman he would be paired with. What was worse? Raping your best friend’s childhood friend, or letting someone else- someone worse- do it for you?_

_He didn’t know, and he never would._

_He stared at the door, ignoring the angry tears that boiled in his eyes. Behind him, Voldemort stepped into his personal space and pressed against him, clenching a deceitfully delicate hand around his own._

_He felt a chuckle vibrate through his body, and a wand press against his back._

_“Are you having second thoughts, little Black?”_

_Thoughts and words flashed heavily through his mind. He saw Severus- bitter and vengeful, brimming with secrets and heartache; his mother- who loved her children enough to have them hate her, who only wanted them to thrive in the horrible light of day; he saw a smart and cunning Lily Evans crying when she thought nobody was watching, huddled miserably on the ground as Severus walked away._

_He saw himself, dead on the marble where he stood._

_He closed his eyes and shook his head, “No, my Lord,” he whispered._

_He stepped forward into darkness._

_XxX_

_Lily's Journal 21/04/80_

_This child is no normal child._

_James remains oblivious, but I know the truth. I remember._

_Tonight I will visit the Seer._


End file.
